


Opposites Attract

by LA_Dmitri



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, just fluff, mostly - Freeform, there's no purpose to this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-12 00:59:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19218409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LA_Dmitri/pseuds/LA_Dmitri
Summary: Nature, the words of both God and the Devil, general disposition, and other such classifications should, and have, stated they are incompatible. The Demon and the Angel should have been enemies, unlovers, and warring with the rest of the lots both Above and Below on their correct sides, respectively.Still, they remained as a pair. An inseparable, ineffably devoted pair with shining eyes that sought only the gaze of their opposite.





	Opposites Attract

**Author's Note:**

> This is much, much shorter than what I typically write but Good Omens has been some of the best writing fodder since I was introduced to it. 
> 
> This takes place in the middle of the thick-of-it.

There were only two instances that had ever prompted Aziraphale to curse. 

The first, being dire situations, such as accidentally placing a collect call to Heaven due to the careless actions of a doughy faced old man with a hideously garbled accent in the thick of a Great, (but  _ not  _ ineffable), Plan pitting Good and Evil against one another in fiery battle to finally end the struggle as to which force would eventually emerge, victorious. 

And the second, was when he remained naked, sticky with sweat and the saliva of messy kisses left on his pale skin by Crowley’s hungry mouth. Fingers digging into the other man with purposeful intent, leaving behind evidence clean enough to frame him as a person of interest in the battery of demonic shoulders. Both of them, Angel and Demon, were cosmic canvasses, decorated with smatterings of bruises in swirling supernovas. It was beautiful, a seamless meshing of the occult and the ethereal. 

Never mind the less than divine utterances from the Angel’s mouth. Ethereal was a subjective state of being. 

And for Crowley? Being occult was a full-time occupation. A gander deep into the broiling hollows of Hell, and yet, he remained so encased by glowing white skin. Crowley hardly thought of himself as a product of Hellish affliction, but rather a personal presentation of the lower worldly pleasures. 

This, alone, was a fact that struck a sour note somewhere deep within the Angel. Nonetheless, his devotion to the Demon was nothing short of  _ ineffable _ , despite their obvious differences. Nature, the words of both God and the Devil, general disposition, and other such classifications should, and have, stated they are incompatible. The Demon and the Angel should have been enemies, unlovers, and warring with the rest of the lots both Above and Below on their correct sides, respectively. 

Still, they remained as a pair. An inseparable,  _ ineffably _ devoted pair with shining eyes that sought only the gaze of their opposite. 

Aziraphale breathes through a dry mouth and rolls off of Crowley, collapsing into the bed sheets as though he were seeking a quenching salvation amidst the high thread count. Crowley’s eyes follow his soft curves and golden hair, glowing against the dimness of a romance addled evening that ended in a blind eye turned to Divine nature. 

“The sins of the flesh,” the Angel hums, exhausted. “Are still something I am delighted to know we, Angels, are allowed to indulge. Sparingly so, yes, of course, but enough to sate one’s hungry pallet.” 

Crowley snorts a response. It is an unglamorous noise that leaves his lips in a rush. The sound is dry and hollow billowing out of his nose. 

“So many rules to be had. Hardly enough people to enforce them.” 

Aziraphale has already sat up on the unmuddled side of the bed. He is running his plump fingers though the hair that Crowley had so gracelessly undone, pushing small rings of curls back into their rightful spots. A flat palm smooths away small beads of sweat from the Angel’s brow. 

“There are many people to enforce them. They are merely busy, at present. Surely, once the mess of the Great, but not ineffable, Plan is tidied, they shall return to their former positions.”

“Perhaps,” Crowley adds, “Or perhaps there will be a tangible understanding had. Something both sides of the Great Plan can come to a solid agreement over. A treaty of sorts.” 

“Peace is large and taboo talk for those Below,” the Angel answers, pulling on his trousers with an elegance that disagrees with the moisture making an unworthy attempt at clinging to his skin.  “Large and taboo talk for you, specifically, my dear.” 

Crowley smiles. “Shall we get lunch tomorrow?” 

“At the Ritz, yes. As always, my dear. As sure as always.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway, Aziraphale and Crowley are gay, you can't change my mind.


End file.
